Moment of Truth
by time-converges
Summary: The Doctor and Donna are forced to play an alien version of Moment of Truth - with life or death consequences.


"Tell me again why the psychic paper told them we were married," Donna hissed through her teeth.

"I told you, I don't know!" The Doctor stood at the door, trying to get it open with the sonic screwdriver. "No use - it's deadlocked." He turned back to Donna.

"Go on, how bad is it then?"

"Pretty bad. Looks like instead of watching them film a reality show, we get to be the contestants."

"Well, that can't be that bad. Maybe we'll win a prize or something," Donna said, knowing it couldn't be that simple. Nothing ever was with the Doctor around.

"Sure, if we were on Earth, or just about any other planet, for that matter. Unfortunately here, they take their games very seriously. Life or death, even." He walked over to her, taking her shoulders in his hands. "Donna, this game isn't a game. One wrong answer..."

"And we die?" Donna asked in a small voice.

"Worse than that." He turned away from her, running one hand through his hair distractedly. "I answer wrong, and you die. And vice versa."

Donna gasped. "What the hell kind of twisted game is that? What were you thinking bringing us here?"

"Do you think if I had known I would have brought you here?"

"So what's the plan for getting us out of here, then?"

"I haven't got one yet." He turned as he heard the door open.

A tall, thin woman stood in the doorway, flanked by two stocky men. "Time for hair and makeup. Mr. Smith, please come with me," she said.

The Doctor flashed a false smile at the woman. "Look, I think there's been a misunderstanding--"

She cut him off. "You knew what you were getting into. Now come with us." She motioned to the two men with her, and they came forward to take the Doctor by the arms. Donna grabbed at him, but they pushed her aside easily.

"Please, don't hurt him --" she said.

"Donna, don't worry. I'll get this worked out. Just tell the truth, and you'll be fine. Donna--" he shouted, as they dragged him out of the room.

Two more women entered the room, carrying large cosmetic cases. "Mrs. Smith, if you'll just have a seat. You'll see him again in the studio in just a little while. We're just going to get you camera-ready. Did you bring any other clothes with you?"

The stage manager led her onto the soundstage, keeping a firm hold on her arm. Her arms ached already from where they had held her down in the makeup chair. She saw the Doctor being strapped into a medieval looking chair on the opposite side of the stage, and broke free to run toward him. She made it to his side before the manager caught up to her. She looked anxiously at the chair he was in. "What are they doing to you?" she asked, reaching for his hand.

He managed to grasp her hand for a moment before the technician pulled it back. "Did they hurt you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. I did manage to bite the makeup artist, though."

He chuckled. "They won't get you without a fight, eh? Oi, don't hurt her!" he shouted, as the manager grabbed her arms.

The manager and the other technician pulled her to the matching chair near the Doctor's. As they strapped her in and began attaching wires to her, Donna asked, "So, what are the rules of this game again?"

"As if you don't know," the technician replied.

"Humor me, okay?" She struggled against the restraints, but the tech only tightened them more.

"The host will ask a series of questions to each of you, taking turns. The questions will become increasingly personal. If you both answer all of the questions truthfully, as judged by the lie detector, you win. If either of you lies, again as judged by the lie detector, the other will suffer the punishment. Simple."

"And people watch this?"

"It's our highest rated program," the stage manager said proudly. "Five minutes to air, everyone!"

Donna looked over at the Doctor. He said, "Don't worry. Just tell the truth. I'll get us out of this."

"At least it's not a history quiz. I'm rubbish at history," Donna said, smiling weakly.

"We'll be fine."

The first few questions had been easy. Not too personal; easy to tell the truth. The host was a typical game-show host: facile and condescending, but with a television smile. It was the Doctor's turn.

"Do you think you have what it takes to be a good father?"

Donna could see him swallow hard before answering. "No," he said.

The machine voice said, "True."

Donna held her breath. Her turn again. "Have you ever snooped through John's things?"

Did looking through the wardrobe room count? She supposed it did. "Yes."

"True," the machine intoned. She let out her breath.

"Have you ever thought Donna deserves a better-looking man than you?"

There was a long pause. "Yes," he said, finally.

"True."

Her turn again already. "Are you afraid John will leave you for one of his former girlfriends?"

"Yes," she said in a soft voice. This would be easier if he weren't there listening to her answers.

"True."

"John, are you in love with Donna?"

Donna wished the floor would swallow her up. She closed her eyes. "Yes," he said, and her eyes flew open in shock.

"True," the machine voice declared.

"Donna, are you in love with John?"

Donna closed her eyes again. Was she? How could the machine know whether she was telling the truth if she didn't know herself?

"Donna, you have to answer," the host said.

"Yes," she said, and all hell broke loose. The stage was suddenly swarming with dozens of people in dark clothing and masks, shouting. The Doctor was beside her, sonic screwdriver in hand, releasing her from the restraints. He pulled her out of the chair, and off the stage.

"What the hell just happened?" Donna asked, breathless as they ran for the TARDIS.

"Some sort of resistance - against the cruel treatment of reality show contestants. One of the hairdressers is a member and he told me what they were planning. I just encouraged them to move up the timetable."

"That was lucky!" she said, slamming the doors shut as he sprinted for the console.

"Yeah, lucky," he replied. "Let's go somewhere a bit more civilized, hmm?"

"Definitely," she answered. "Oh, and Doctor..."

"Hmmm?"

"I don't think there is a better-looking man than you."

He looked up from the console, and grinned at her. "You're not so bad yourself, Ms. Noble."


End file.
